


After the Fall: Dulce de leche

by rhys_withoutaspoon



Series: After the Fall [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Hannibal Lecter - mention, If You Squint - Freeform, Like canon-typical relationship Hannigram, Margot Verger - mention, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Will Graham - mention, they're not actually in it, will graham/hannibal lecter - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 12:37:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9549278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhys_withoutaspoon/pseuds/rhys_withoutaspoon
Summary: “On march the banners of the King of Hell.” Dr. Bloom’s voice cut the silence. Dr. Du Maurier’s eyebrows rose, face otherwise remaining unchanging.“Are you suggesting Hannibal is the devil?”“Didn’t you?” Dr. Bloom stared, the absence of noise stretching; almost tangible. “The mouth of the Beast, no?” Dr. Du Maurier smiled in acquiescence. She nodded slowly. “He’s not dead, is he?”“No, I should think not.”Or, in which Dr. Alana Bloom interrupts Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier packing, causing both parties to engage in polite conversation.





	

It was a house Dr. Alana Bloom had considered inviting herself to many times, but hadn’t the heart to; until now, obviously. After the ‘disappearance’ of a retired FBI profiler and once-time friend Will Graham and cannibalistic serial killer and –  much to Alana’s disgust – once-time flame, Hannibal Lecter, Alana had retreated into her family. Although the official word was that they were both dead, all that ran through Alana’s head was that damned promise that Lecter had made her; that her life was his. She believed they were dead about as much as Jack Crawford did, and his views on this matter were very clear, though oft controversial.

But here she was, outside Bedelia Du Maurier’s wide, decadent house, and it struck that perhaps she went to see Dr. Du Maurier because – according to Hannibal Lecter – both their lives were forfeit. Maybe they were both running on overtime, neither truly alive nor dead. She corrected herself; they were neither alive nor dead yet. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the woman who had openly called herself the Bride of Frankenstein, who had both the professional reputation for harshness, and a personal penchant for manipulation. Alana had spoken to her, and in retrospect, she was similar in many ways to her wife. Also in retrospect, Alana could see Dr. Du Maurier had the stink of Lecter washing over her.

She knocked on the door, and although she was sure Bedelia was home, nervousness crept through her. Alana reckoned it was the horrible instinctive thought that Lecter would greet her at the door to take her coat, and then procede serve Bedelia as the main course. It wouldn’t happen of course, Lecter was not idiotic enough to stick around this continent, but it itched in the back of her mind.

The door opened, and if Alana was younger and more foolish, she would have almost let out a sigh of relief as the impeccably dressed doctor opened the door to greet her. On closer inspection, the doctor did not look impeccable, the foundation barely covering the bags under her eyes, her posture rigid and fearful.

“Ah, Doctor Bloom. I have expected this visit, though I must admit I expected it sooner. You may come in, of course. Do you want a drink?” Alana’s mouth set into a thin line.

“Anything but wine.” Bedelia lips curved into a smile, hollow and without mirth. She gestured, turning and leading Alana into her home. Alana saw the boxes, stacked up across the room, which was barely furnished if not for the two leather chairs sitting in the middle of the room. It did seem that the doctor was expecting her.

“So what do I owe the wonderful Doctor Alana Bloom?”

“I thought you were expecting me.” Bedelia sat down in a leather-covered chair, tilting her head in indication that Alana do the same. Alana noticed the lack of a drink. “And please, Alana will do.” Bedelia nodded slightly, but did not speak, merely raising an eyebrow at the woman in front of her. She was waiting for Alana to say the first words. The words were heavy in Alana’s throat, but she forced them out to diminish the pressing quiet of Bedelia’s sharp stare.

“On march the banners of the King of Hell.” Alana’s voice cut the silence. Dr. Du Maurier’s eyebrows rose, face otherwise remaining unchanging.

“Are you suggesting Hannibal is the devil?”

“Didn’t you?” She stared, the absence of noise stretching; almost tangible. “The mouth of the Beast, no?” Bedelia smiled in acquiescence, nodding slowly. “He’s not dead, is he?”

“No, I should think not.” The faint smile on Bedelia’s face sent a chill down Alana’s spine. “But…” Du Maurier continued, “I think you already knew that.” Alana swallowed, teeth clenched.

“I was hoping for something else.” Bedelia cocked her head to the side.

“Their corpses washing up onto the beach, bloodied with the evidence of their sins?” Her simple smile was cause enough for Alana’s jaw to further clench; the words were just the topping.

“No.” Alana almost spat the word out. “I was hoping for _his_ corpse to wash up on the beach.” The admission was raw in her throat as she imagined Will’s smile; not the bitter grimace or the rage-filled smirk that she had seen so often in the past years. No, it was the small stretching of the corners that echoed in her mind. Before Hannibal. Before the BSHCI. Before any of this. Bedelia chuckled, the sound hollow yet full of mirth.

“You really didn’t know him, did you?” Alana almost snarled at the self-satisfied smirk on the doctor’s face.

“And you did?” Bedelia stared, not answering her question with anything but a simple look. Alana leaned forward, meeting her stare, determined.

“Did you notice that Will would inadvertently copy your speech patterns, your movements?” Before Alana could even think to respond, she continued, her eyes fixated on Alana’s. “Because he does. It is his extraordinary empathy. He, in the blink of an eye, analyses your behaviour, absorbs it, and copies it.” Alana slowly leaned back, frowning slightly. “It’s not the only way his empathy passively manifests. He, whether consciously or not, reveals particular aspects of his personality to different people.” She let this sit over Alana, unfazed by her sharp stare.

“Yes, I had noticed that. But you say ‘consciously or not’? Do you believe it was in fact, conscious?” Bedelia graced her response with that gentle smile that never reached her eyes.

“Sometimes. Keep in mind, that excepting the few sessions I had with the man himself, most of my knowledge comes through the filter of manipulation known more commonly as Hannibal Lecter. I’m sure he only told me what he wanted to, warping the information to his desire. It’s what he does, I’m afraid.”

“I noticed.” Alana’s gaze became stony at the mention of one Hannibal Lecter.

“Do not blame yourself, dear Doctor Bloom. We’ve all been victims of his machinations.” She paused, considering her words. “We’ve all been his bride.” Alana’s insides twisted, mind burning as she remembered those nights spent with Hannibal. “But regardless of whether Will Graham’s personality switching was conscious or not – and professionally I think it could have been – it was still what he did. Constantly. I don’t think any of us knew the ‘real’ Will Graham. I don’t think he did either.”

Alana’s hands shook, almost unnoticeably.

“Did Hannibal?” Bedelia smiled condescendingly.

“I think…that Hannibal only saw the man that could understand him. I think Hannibal thought that he did.” Alana’s eyebrows rose at the past tense.

“Thought?” Bedelia sighed in an unusual act of fatigue.

“Will Graham is shaped by his surroundings. It is his nature. His empathy gives him an unstable sense of self. Hannibal knew this, and with his curiosity peaked,  he decided to bend the mind of Will Graham, pressing and shaping into his design. Of course, Will’s sense of self is so unstable that by other’s believing he can be manipulated, he believes it too. The fact of the matter is that Will Graham’s brain isn’t malleable. It’s brittle. It snaps and reforms and snaps again.”

“So Hannibal didn’t successfully shape Will’s brain.” Bedelia shook her head, looking tired once more.

“He did. Snapping is a form of reshaping, however violent it may be.” Alana’s eyes widened.

“But what reformed was not Hannibal’s plan. He tried to kill him. Surely that wasn’t in Hannibal’s design.”

“I still don’t know. I can’t pretend to know Hannibal, doctor.” Alana frowned.

“You talk like you do. You act like you do. So why tell me you don’t?” Bedelia laughed once more, the sound still so hollow. “And all that still doesn’t explain why Hannibal no longer believes that he knows the ‘true’ Will Graham.”

“Hannibal broke Will Graham, expecting the pieces to reform into his design. I am…not quite certain Hannibal wanted Will to attempt to kill him. But he could have. You see, when Will Graham analysed, absorbed and copied Hannibal Lecter’s behaviours, he returned the favour. I truly don’t think Hannibal expected that.”

“You mean when Will tricked Hannibal? To think he was on Hannibal’s side?” Bedelia smiled with that condescending look once more.

“Wasn’t he?” Alana frowned.

“No. That was the point. That was the reason he was gutted by Doctor Lecter.” There was a silence there, similar to the one earlier that stretched out into the horizon. It lay there, filling the room.

Dr. Du Maurier’s voice was quiet as she for the first time looked away from Alana.

“Can’t live with him. Can’t live without him.” She looked back up. “I…understand how alluring he could be. But then I understood how dangerous he was. I think Will Graham always knew both.”

“What are you insinuating?” Alana’s face was hard, her frown unyielding. Bedelia’s next words were hesitant, quiet, and carefully chosen.

“They are identically different. I believe they are…trapped. Trapped in a cycle of betrayal and forgiveness that is so akin to a form of love, no one can really see the difference. And…I think Hannibal thought he knew the real Will Graham. He was so sure that Will would go to him, so sure that he surrendered himself. But now…” Her words trailed off. Alana was impressed by her performance, the inflections and the small well of tears so perfectly placed that she knew it was manufactured. “Hannibal doesn’t know the real Will Graham. And he knows that now, because whoever tried to kill him was only a Will Graham. As was the one that forgave him.” Alana stared.

“Are you insinuating a form of disassociate identity disorder?” Bedelia shook her head, more certain than she had seemed for the entirety of the conversation.

“Of course not. Will Graham is fluid in his brittle nature. He is constantly changing. But I believe right now, the Will Graham that came into my office and told me that meat’s back on the menu, the Will Graham that pushed him and Hannibal off that ledge. That’s the real one.” Alana’s eyes widened at her statement, the comments processing in her mind.

“The Will Graham that forgave Hannibal and betrayed himself.” Bedelia nodded, and as she did, Alana’s memory jolted. “Wait. He said what?” Bedelia looked at her, piercing her with an empty stare.

“I’d start packing if I were you. Meat’s back on the menu. Ready or not. Here he comes.” Alana’s mouth opened slightly, mind whirring. Alana would not put it past Doctor Du Maurier to lie, to manipulate her. But she had no idea why she would lie.

Alana’s shoulders slumped as she looked up to the fellow Bride of Frankenstein before her.

“Will he come after my family?” Bedelia pursed her lips. “Will he come after Margot? After my son?”

“Don’t worry, Doctor Bloom. I’m further up on the menu. And I know they will come for me. As for you? Well, I know what’s under Hannibal’s people suit. Tell me Doctor Bloom? What do you think lies under Will’s? Is there truly any compassion under the empathy?”

Alana paused.

“Well, Doctor Du Maurier, I don’t know. But I’m beginning to wonder what’s under yours.” Bedelia smiled, for the first time showing her brilliant teeth.

“Be careful doctor, you play; you pay.” Alana looked down at her lap.

“I’m beginning to suspect that I’ve been playing for a long time.” Bedelia nodded, and turned to face the window.

“Once you realise how dispensable you are, you can play in earnest. But…you still didn’t answer my question.” Scoffing, Alana raised her eyebrows, sitting upwards into her full height.

“And I owe you anything, Doctor Du Maurier?” Bedelia smiled, humour crinkling around her eyes.

“You’re beginning to sound like a true Verger, Doctor Bloom.” Alana put her chin upwards, looking down at the Doctor.

“I am a Verger.” Bedelia’s eyebrows raised.

“Ah yes, of course. I never got to say congratulations. Pity that you’re condemming them to a painful death, sooner or later.” Bedelia’s eyes were cold and hard, and for a second, Alana saw what lay underneath the doctor’s people suit.

“Later, I think. Remember? You’re further up on the menu.”

“Coldness does not suit you, Doctor Bloom.” Alana smiled in pity.

“No? It feels like an old friend nowadays.” She nodded, acknowledging her tiredness.

“Do not feel pity for you or me, Doctor Bloom. We were never in control.” Alana looked at her, eyebrows raised in a gesture of scepticism.

“Don’t lump me in with you. You know you knew what you were doing. But, as you say, you play; you pay.” The sympathetic smile on Bedelia’s face was gone in a second. “But,” Alana continued, “I realised when I visited Fredrick.” She away from Bedelia’s intense stare. “It’s what they do. And I always suspected that Hannibal did it, and I actually wasn’t as surprised as I should have been when that was confirmed. But after I visited Fredrick, I realised. Will does it too.”

“What do they do?” Alana gave her a hard stare.

“You know.”

“Indulge me.” Alana snarled to herself.

“You know.” Bedelia smirked.

“They throw other people in the way of each other.” Alana’s eyes drifted to her lap, as she sighed.

“I often asked Will why Hannibal did what he did. He would always reply with the same phrase: ‘Because he wanted to see what would happen’.” She rubbed her eyes with her shaking hands. “Hannibal wanted to see how Will would react. I never noticed until now…” She trailed off.

“Will always returns the favour. They’re infatuated by each other’s behavioural responses. Hannibal throws a hornet to see how Will would avoid the sting, and in a sick kindness, Will tosses a fly at Hannibal to see just how he would pull of their wings this time.”

Alana’s whole body sagged with fatigue. She knew, and she knew, and it did not help.

“Will just wants to understand Hannibal. The way he can understand any other criminal with a glance.” She looked up for the first time in minutes. “But he doesn’t care who gets in the way. He doesn’t. He knew Hannibal would come after Gideon, as he knew the Dragon would go after Chilton.” Alana’s stare was defiant, a hot anger in her eyes, reflected against the cool apathy of Doctor Du Maurier. “Is that what you want me to say? That Will doesn’t care? Does that answer your _question_?” The word was spat out, and Bedelia smiled in response.

“Quite the contrary. I believe Will would not let harm come to you, for now. Or, at least not to your family.” Her stance was as nonchalant as the delivery of her words. “Now, Alana, what do I really owe you? Why did you come here today?”

Another silence filled the room. This once was heavier than the last, and broader than the one before it. Alana’s reply was barely a whisper.

“I wanted to prove to myself that Hannibal was gone, by seeing that you weren’t.” She nodded in response, mulling the answer over.

“If I were dead, or at least fleeing, then you would know that you were in trouble. But you knew he was not gone. And you knew that Will had gone with him. So that’s not it either. Why, Doctor Bloom?”

“Perhaps…I needed to prove that I could confront this, before moving on. You are the shadow of Hannibal Lecter, Doctor Du Maurier, and if I could see you, and see you…defeated like this, maybe I could defeat that which haunts me too.” Alana’s eyes and heart were calm. She wasn’t afraid, or angry anymore.

“Do you see him in your sleep as I do?” Alana tilted her head.

“I doubt my dreams are as pleasant as yours.”

“So you do?”

“Not just when I’m asleep. It’s like…a silhouette of a man, shadowing every happy moment I have had, every happy moment I will have.” Bedelia nodded.

“We are running on borrowed time, Alana.” Alana’s mouth drew into a thin line, bitter and almost victorious.  

“Then I will stop running. I will ignore that phantom and live my life. Won’t you?” Bedelia’s eyes were saddened somehow, and Alana noted it was the most genuine emotion she had seen from her all afternoon.

“Every single being that comes into contact with Hannibal Lecter with always define their life as such. Before Hannibal, with Hannibal, after Hannibal. I have no such luxury.”

“No?”

“I never did. Hannibal is for me, perpetual.”

Alana grimaced.

“Only because you let him be.” Bedelia grinned.

“Perhaps.” She paused, and then rose from her seat. “Now, I’m sorry to cut this so incredibly short, but I have packing to finish.” Alana followed her movements, ready to turn for the door. She then stopped, smiling.

“How about a glass of wine, Doctor Du Maurier?” Bedelia smiled obligingly, walking slowly into her kitchen, setting two glasses on top of the counter. She grabbed the bottle, inspecting it around her thin fingers.

“Hannibal gave me this. Maybe it is prudent to drink this at this particular occasion.” She poured wine into the glasses, handing one to Alana. Alana raised it.

“To family.” Her smile was empty and eyes hollow. Bedelia laughed.

“To family indeed. And to borrowed time.” Alana bowed in agreement, tipping the glass as the red liquid flowed into her mouth.

What a time to be alive.

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> And we reached the ending of my first in a planned series involving several one-shots all based after The Wrath of the Lamb, fixating on different character's (though a lot will be about Will and Hannibal obviously). I haven’t written for Hannibal before, and I absolutely loved writing Bedelia; she’s such an interesting character to be sure. And as much as I loved season 3 Alana, I do miss that kindness she had in seasons 1-2. They were great characters to write.


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